


Double Trouble

by coldturkey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Double Penetration, Eventual Twin Threesome, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fen'Harel is... not, Humor, Kink Meme, Not Twincest, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Slowish to Update, Smut, Solas is Touch-Starved, Solas is not Fen'Harel, They are identical twins, Twins, Vaginal Sex, non-con/dub-con elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:26:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldturkey/pseuds/coldturkey
Summary: Solas is NOT Fen’Harel. He’s actually the Dread Wolf’s super nerd identical twin. They’ve been switching places off and on the whole time. In fact, they've shared the same identity in public since before the rise of the Evanuris.Their greatest deception, if any, was the idea that the Dread Wolf was “he who hunts alone.” Fen’Harel had never hunted alone. Wolves hunted in packs, and theirs was a pack of two. It was that secret, known only to Mythal, that allowed their infamous trapping of the so-called “gods,” and the disastrous consequences that followed. After all, how could Fen’Harel be in two places at once to trick both the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones into their prisons?Unfortunately, their current plan to drop the Veil was running into... problems. Solas can't seem to stop himself from escalating his relationship with the Inquisitor, and Fen'Harel can't seem to keep his hands out of her pants.





	1. Vhenan's Panties

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Meme Prompt:
> 
> Okay, so, Solas is NOT Fen’Harel. He’s actually the Dread Wolf’s super nerd identical twin. They’ve been switching places off and on the whole time. Whether or not they’ve both slept with Lavellan is up to you (but Solas adores her). I want Lavellan to be okay with everything regardless. But Fen’Harel is a smug, shameless, asshole, type while Solas is remorseful, noble, and really hard on himself, type.
> 
> Author Note: 
> 
> So this thing is ~70% written, with an estimated finished length of ~20k words. I originally intended to wait until it was 100% complete to start posting it, but impatience has gotten the better of me. I'll probably release new chapters ~1x/month since it's a side project that I work on when I need a break from my main fic. Once it's done-done I'll increase the update frequency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank [Qophia ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qophia/pseuds/Qophia)for being an excellent beta bird princess. 
> 
> <3

###### Solas

Solas waited impatiently on the other side of the eluvian, hands clasped behind his back as he paced. Fen’Harel had been due back hours ago, and despite circumstances often resulting in unexpected delays, he couldn’t help but worry.

While there were benefits to sharing a single identity, it had been far easier for him to play Fen’Harel in the days of Arlathan than it was proving for his brother to play Solas now. Fen’Harel had always been the one to enjoy the games of court—and the attentions that came with being elevated among the People.

Solas, on the other hand, had never wanted the attention and burden of exchanging veiled threats under the guise of pleasantries with the likes of Andruil and Falon’Din. It had been so long that he couldn’t remember which one of them had come up with the idea—only that they had.

Their greatest deception, if any, was the idea that the Dread Wolf was “he who hunts alone.” Fen’Harel had never hunted alone. Wolves hunted in packs, and theirs was a pack of two. It was that secret, known only to Mythal, that allowed their infamous trapping of the so-called “gods,” and the disastrous consequences that followed. After all, how could Fen’Harel be in two places at once to trick both the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones into their prisons?

The fools had murdered the only person wise enough to realize the Dread Wolf’s game.

Solas and Fen’Harel had each been formidable in his own right, capable of rising into the ranks of the Evanuris alone, but together they were unstoppable. Not even Elgar’nan had the power to create something like the Veil on his own.

There was a flare of magic as the surface of the eluvian rippled, and Fen’Harel stepped into the room. Solas stopped pacing, taking in the slight flush of Fen’Harel’s cheeks and the easygoing swagger of his footsteps with a slight frown. “I trust you had good reason to consume the quantity of alcohol needed to grow inebriated?” Solas said.

Fen’Harel met his brother’s gaze with a smirk, sighing heavily before dropping into a nearby armchair. One of his legs sprawled over the armrest, an eternal reminder that the man was incapable of sitting normally in anything that remotely resembled a throne. It was one of the few things Solas truly loathed emulating.

“Of course,” Fen’Harel said smoothly, “The Inquisitor and her merry band of misfits invited us to the tavern for a few games of Wicked Grace. And this era’s deplorable excuse for books were giving me a headache. Upon winning a round, it is customary to drink. I was not about to lose.”

Fen’Harel tilted his head, the curl of his lips growing into a mischievous grin that filled Solas with dread. He knew that look, and if alcohol was involved, it could only mean trouble. Solas pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. “What did you do.”

“Your little pet—“

“She is not a pet.”

“—did not take well to losing, and desired a rematch. As we were both well into our cups... and in her quarters... she made the loveliest suggestion: that we bet articles of clothing.” He raised his hand languidly and opened it, and black silk dangled from long, slender fingers. Underpants. _The Inquisitor’s_ _underpants_.

Solas stared at them, and his eyes narrowed.

“Oh, do I detect jealousy?” Fen’Harel teased, moving his hand so they swayed back and forth. “I could hardly say no, brother. She did ask me to take her when she lost, after all. If it is any consolation, it was your name on her lips while I lapped between her legs.”

Solas’s jealousy was hardly something to detect, and he didn’t bother to hide his frustration. “She is not a toy for you to play with!” he snapped, snatching the panties from Fen’Harel as a blush crept up his face and ears.

“The Inquisitor is hardly a toy. You know perfectly well that I find her... _fascinating_.”

“Your fascination only extends to her ability to retrieve your orb!”

Fen’Harel scoffed, his expression souring. “Yes, yes, she is a rare and mysterious treasure. An enigma. As if your infatuation with the woman were not directly related to your mark in her hand,” he countered disdainfully.

“We should not have been involved in the first place. This has gone too far.”

“And whose fault is that? I am not the one who whisked her off into the Fade, starry-eyed, waxing poetic about how she ‘changes everything,’” Fen’Harel said, making air quotes. This was not the first time they had had this argument.

Solas swallowed. “I made a terrible mistake.” Yet another among several he had yet to put right. “A miscalculation.”

“The only thing you are miscalculating, _brother_ , is where to place your penis. She is proving a distraction. Get her out of your system and be done with it,” Fen’Harel said irritably.

“It is not so simple,” Solas said quietly, his fists clenching.

“Then make it simple.”

“Had you not given your orb to Corypheus,” Solas growled, “none of this would be happening in the first place!”

“Then _perhaps_ my better half should not have had the _brilliant_ idea of _locking my orb_ at the cost of his own power. Or creating the Veil. Or, hmm, let me think,” Fen’Harel said, tapping his finger against his chin in mock thought, “ah, yes, sleeping with Mythal! A brilliant idea on your part, Solas. One that could not _possibly_ backfire!”

“You were hysterical when Arlathan fell. I had to do something!” Solas protested. He remembered all too well how upset both he and Fen’Harel had been when they’d witnessed the unforeseen destruction caused by the Veil. Neither of them was in a position to think clearly, and to have access to such power in their grief could have only led to further disaster. Locking his mark, and the orb, had been a necessary precaution. He could not have predicted that after thousands of years they would still be so diminished. “And do not bring Mythal into this,” Solas added. “You cared for her as much as I did.”

“Perhaps, but I was wise enough not to get involved with _Elgar’nan’s_ _wife_.”

Solas threw up his hands, the Inquisitor’s panties still clutched in his fingers. “Yet Andruil was a perfectly good idea!” he exclaimed sarcastically.

Fen’Harel grimaced. “A lesson learned.”

That was certainly one way of putting it.

They eyed each other for a moment, and Solas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Only then did he realize he was still holding the Inquisitor’s underwear, the scent of her arousal now thick in his nose.

Mortified, he quickly withdrew the stolen silk from his face, desperately trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks, and the growing tightness of his breeches. Solas wanted to throw the undergarment out of his hands, but Fen’Harel would no doubt ensure it found its way back into his possession. Destroying it would only escalate things further. For now, Solas would simply have to suffer and will himself to pretend he did not find the idea of her gasping in pleasure with his name on her lips...

Solas cleared his throat and glared at Fen’Harel. Who, of course, now wore a knowing smirk.

“I will not lie with her under false pretenses,” Solas said. “Must I remind you that we are Solas right now, and not Fen’Harel?”

Fen’Harel rolled his eyes and drawled, “I have not forgotten, _Solas._ Nothing was reciprocated. I did what needed to be done.”

“Forgive me if I remain unconvinced that—” Solas paused, mentally cursing himself for the thickness creeping into his voice at the obscene image in his head, ”—‘ _lapping between her legs_ ’ was a matter of necessity.”

“Well, _somebody_ had to!” Fen’Harel replied dramatically. “That woman was _thirsty_!”

.

###### Fen’Harel

“I will handle it,” he’d said, “I have not forgotten our duty to the People,” he’d said.

What Fen’Harel wanted to know was how, exactly, “handling it” included a confession of love on a balcony. That was, by definition, the exact opposite of “handling it.” Solas was supposed to end things, and instead he’d called the Inquisitor vhenan. _Vhenan!_

Solas had always had a weak spot for people in positions of power—not that Fen’Harel himself was particularly different, for completely unrelated reasons, but at least Fen’Harel had never turned into a mushy puddle of sappy goo whenever the current object he fancied was nearby.

Now he was stuck calling this Dalish shadow vhenan and feigning small smiles and gentle touches under public eye. Were it not for Solas feeling so guilty over the entire matter, Fen’Harel likely would have found himself in a position where he needed to feign _puppy love_. As Fen’Harel did not do cute, or cuteness, he was relieved that Solas was so determined to continue torturing himself with guilt-imposed aloofness.

The very idea of having to play the part of lovestruck moron any further put a bitter taste in Fen’Harel’s mouth. He scowled, brow furrowing as he looked at the current fresco’s outline. Soon the woman, and the rest of her kind, would be gone. Solas would be better off seeing her for the fleeting, temporary thing she was – little more than a memory that faded as quickly as it came into being.

Though at least through these murals the Inquisition, and its Inquisitor, would be remembered once the unpleasant task ahead was complete. It had taken Fen’Harel longer than normal to decide how, exactly, he wanted to depict the events in Halam’Shiral. That night had been an evening of missteps on his part, and knowing Solas had made several of his own did not help matters.

Between the assassination plots and the presence of decent wine, they had both let their guards fall. Fen’Harel had always shamelessly enjoyed the intrigue of court and the thrill of aristocratic blood running freely down polished marble. There was nothing quite like watching those corrupted by the weight of their own power fall. It went without saying that the night’s events at the Winter Palace had left him excited. Predatory. 

But he’d behaved—all the way up until their vhenan, Solas’s vhenan, had found him, her cheeks flushed from a mix of drink and excitement. Fen’Harel had been too restless to stay in Solas’s room, and his twin had been called away to tie up loose ends left behind by their agents.

That was when Fen’Harel learned that Solas had nearly, finally, taken Lavellan. Against a wall. On a balcony. No doubt in perfect view of several agents and spies. Perhaps it was time to ban Solas from balconies. Fen’Harel was beginning to notice a pattern. Not even Mythal had been safe from Solas and his fucking balconies. Of course, it was Solas, and not Fen’Harel, so the man had no doubt immediately been overcome by guilt and fled with some absurd excuse and a massive erection, leaving an extremely frustrated and sexually aggressive Dalish woman for Fen’Harel to deal with. Which, for the record, was a terrible idea. As a rule, Fen’Harel had always made a point to sleep with anything and everything he deemed “feisty.” Solas was, truly, his own worst enemy.

The Inquisitor had all but shoved Fen’Harel up against a wall, half-growling in his ear about how she didn’t give a damn what the shemlen nobles might think. Fen’Harel had been sorely tempted to correct her, pointing out that she, too, was a mortal and therefore shemlen. Nothing more than a passing shadow, to blink out of existence before she’d had the chance to live. Thankfully Fen’Harel had thought better of it. Instead, he’d slept with her.

If Solas ever found out, Fen’Harel was likely to find himself trapped on the wrong side of an eluvian.

Fen’Harel had managed to use Solas’s own guilt and conflicted feelings to convince his twin it would be best if he were the one to interact with the Inquisitor for the time being. At the very least until Solas no longer feared doing something foolish. Like the naïve and self-flagellating moron he was, Solas had agreed. Fen’Harel had also yet again encouraged Solas to end things. At this point it was necessary: the Dalish woman was becoming far too problematic.

“Something wrong?” their vhenan asked, and Fen’Harel’s unfocused gaze snapped away from the space of his next fresco to the elf descending the spiral stairs from the library.

Fen’Harel’s lip curled into a small smirk. “Not at all, vhenan.” He stepped away from the wall, clasping his hands behind his back as he approached her—one foot in front of the other. It was as playful as it was predatory. It was foolish.

She returned his smirk with a small smile, her own steps helping to close the space between them. The way she looked at him—at Solas—was troublesome. No one had ever looked at _him_ like that. It was dangerously unconditional and open. Vulnerable in a way that had Fen’Harel remembering the taste of her skin and the smell of her sweat.

The feeling of her under him, his teeth on her neck. Moving inside her. A tangle of limbs.

Fen’Harel let his eyes trail down from her face, over the curve of her breasts and the flare of her hips. It was unfortunate that she had been born now—her face marred by the slave markings of Dirthamen.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Solas,” the Inquisitor said, “but you’ve been different since Halamshiral.” She trailed her fingers over his front. “But I like it.”

Fen’Harel stilled, but he recovered quickly and indulged her with a smile. It was a small, reserved curl of his lips, close to the one Solas would have given. “I would think that obvious.”

Not an hour later he found himself in the Inquisitor’s bed, with the shadow his brother loved. Her legs wrapped around him and her nails on his back. Her breath hot against his ear, and his brother’s name—the wrong name—on her lips.

This was not supposed to happen.

Oops.

.

###### Lavellan

As of late, Solas had been acting... odd.

Lavellan wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She understood that the mage was an exceptionally private and sensitive individual, despite his occasionally cocky exterior, and that he would not appreciate the intrusion, but she was beginning to worry.

In public Solas was the same he’d always been: quiet, considerate, and thoughtful. However, alone, in her personal interactions with him, Solas was beginning to get, for lack of a better word, _aggressive._ While that was not a problem in and of itself, some of that aggression was beginning to seep out into the open. And the way it was seeping _was_ a problem. Not only because she had a reputation and image to worry about as leader of the Inquisition, but also because the man she loved was beginning to exhibit a lack of decorum that was very un-Solas.

It had started innocently enough, with Solas slipping into her quarters unannounced. Then into her bed. From there things escalated to darkened corners and empty hallways, where she’d suddenly find her back to a wall and his lips against hers, hungry and demanding. It was a game of anticipation, and a side of Solas she had initially enjoyed, up until she’d realized he would keep pushing the boundaries of acceptable behavior. Regardless of what she said. Indefinitely.

In addition, what intimacy they did have was entirely on his terms, and _only_ his terms. If Lavellan tried to make her own advances, once her intentions became clear Solas would gently rebuff her. Eventually Lavellan grew so frustrated that she tried to turn the tables, using her skills as a rogue to sneak up on him—only to have him untangle himself from her in a panic and flee.

That was when things started spiraling out of control.

After her failed seduction, whenever Lavellan tried to get him alone to talk or spend time together, Solas was ready with an excuse—assuming she could find him in the first place. Instead, he’d taken to prowling around Skyhold, always nearby but just out of reach. Until he wasn’t. Only it wasn’t dark corners anymore, but broad daylight, and the locations were increasingly less empty. One moment he was avoiding her with muttered apologizes about needing to consult a tome, and the next he was whispering scathing remarks into her ear while trying to slip his fingers under her waistband. _In full view of the main hall._

When she’d swatted his hands away and pulled him aside to demand what, exactly, he thought he was doing, Lavellan could have sworn Solas _growled_ at her.

After that, it was days of, “Ir abelas, vhenan. I need time to think.”

Were it not for the fact that, despite Solas’s increasingly strange behavior, most of his expressions and mannerisms were still the same, she would have thought he was two different people entirely.

Attempted talks had gotten her nowhere. Whatever was going on, Lavellan was determined to get to the bottom of it. Something was wrong, and the Inquisitor wasn’t about to sit back and do nothing while the man she loved was in trouble.

Lavellan headed determinately in the direction of Solas’s quarters, her footsteps silent on the cold stone. While she had been at his door on several occasions, Lavellan had never entered his room. To say this would be a violation of his privacy and a breach of his trust was an understatement. After checking to make sure the coast was clear, she pulled her thieves’ tools and went to work. Lavellan knew there was a good chance he had wards in place, and Dorian wouldn’t be able to delay Solas for long once he realized there was an intruder. 

When the lock popped open with a satisfying click, Lavellan darted into the room and quickly shut the door behind her. The hairs on her neck stood on end as she took in the space. Magic permeated the air, heavy enough that even a non-mage like herself could tell it was there. Her left hand itched, flickering green in spite of the dampening purge Lavellan had convinced Lysette to cast on the mark. Not wanting to take any chances, she slipped a glove over her left hand.

The room was larger than she’d expected, but it was also completely bare of personal effects. Solas’s quarters in Haven had had more personal items than this space. If Lavellan hadn’t known for a fact that this was his room, she would have thought it belonged to someone else. Yes, there were some signs of use and occupation, but they were minimal. A few scattered books, a desk with ink, quill, and a stack of blank parchment. Only Solas would never bother to keep parchment without some of it having notes—and the bookshelf had a tome on it that she distinctly recalled him referring to as a “readily available doorstop conveniently disguised as an underwhelming and juvenile attempt at historical commentary.”

Before she could investigate anything further, there was a sudden, burning heat against her chest from Dorian’s messenger stone. It was the signal that he expected Solas to Fade step, and Lavellan swore under her breath. For whatever reason, she hadn’t expected him to treat an intrusion with open urgency. For lack of better options, Lavellan scrambled to the bed, shoving herself into the narrow space between the mattress and floor. Her heart thudding loudly in her chest.

The mark tingled, and in the blink of an eye Solas’s feet appeared in the middle of the room. He didn’t move immediately, standing motionless, and Lavellan held her breath.

She watched his feet, the pressure in her lungs growing. By the time he moved, Lavellan’s lungs felt like they were on fire. His footfalls were silent against the ground, even more so than usual, and when she finally dared to take a breath her eyes had begun to water.

It was probably overkill, but if he discovered her it would not be pretty. Solas did not trust easily.

He walked to the door and opened it, crouching down and inspecting the keyhole with an uncharacteristically steely gaze that sent a chill down her spine. All it would take was the smallest turn of his head, and she’d be spotted. Then the jig would be up.

But, by some miracle, he didn’t turn. His blue grey eyes didn’t flick over to the bed, and Solas straightened. The door closed once more, locking with a click, and Solas walked around behind his desk, his feet passing out of sight behind the heavy wood. There must have been another flare of magic, because the mark prickled, followed by the sound of stone on stone. Lavellan’s brow furrowed, and she waited for Solas’s feet to come back into view, but the silence stretched.

When the seconds turned into minutes, and his feet had still not reappeared, curiosity finally won out. Lavellan wriggled out from under the bed and climbed to her feet. The space behind the desk was empty. It was possible that Solas had Fade stepped back out of the room, but even if he had, Lavellan didn’t have to be a mage to know that twisting the Veil didn’t sound like sharpening a knife on whetstone. This was an old keep, full of magic and all sorts of mysteries. Lavellan thought it was far more likely that Solas had stumbled across one of them. And, if what he’d found had been dangerous, it might explain his behavior.

With all his talk of the Fade and spirits, Lavellan had secretly harbored a growing fear that one of them may have finally tricked Solas into possession.

She walked around the desk and ran her hands over the stone wall, looking for some indent or indication that there was more to the surface than mere stone. When she couldn’t find anything, Lavellan removed her glove and pressed the mark into the stone. She pushed, willing the green light to spark weakly to life. The templar’s purge had left it less responsive than usual. Lavellan could feel the power there, trapped in her palm, but she struggled to manifest it. 

When the stone responded, sliding open to reveal a hidden passage, Lavellan’s jaw dropped. Not because it had worked—although that had been a surprise—but because at the end of the short passage there stood an eluvian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _vhenan_ \- "my heart" a term of endearment.
> 
>  _Ir abelas_ \- I'm sorry


	2. Fen'Harel'edhis Enaste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas wishes Fen'Harel would show more care for books.
> 
> Fen'Harel is sick of Solas's sexual angst and sits on a throne of lies.
> 
> Lavellan just wants to know WTF is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayyy, hi. 
> 
> I know I said 1x/month, and I meant it... I just never said _when_ in the month and, well, it's _technically_ October right now, soooooo....
> 
> But yeah, Ch.3 will still have to wait till November. These're my guns and I'm sticking to them. The "technical calendar month" loophole has now been filled.
> 
> Also a very loud thank you to [Qophia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qophia/pseuds/Qophia) for being a wonderful beta. <3
> 
> Those at a computer can mouse over for inline translations, and for those who aren't translations are available at the bottom.
> 
> Enjoy!

###### Solas

Solas stepped through the eluvian, an unamused frown twisting over his features. The past week had been trying on a number of levels, and Dorian’s insistence that Palahnem’s Theorem of Magical Convergence— _Solas’s_ theorem—had not only been discovered by the _Tevinter Imperium_ , but was actually called Placidius’s Theorem, after Placidius _Pavus_ , had nearly caused him to lose his composure entirely. The theorem wasn’t named after a _person_ ; it had been named for the circumstances surrounding his rivalry with Dirthamen that led to the discovery.

Yes, technically, officially, it was a rivalry between Fen’Harel and Falon’Din, but only because Fen’Harel and Falon’Din were the ones who enjoyed the endless posturing and months of exchanged insults. Had Dirthamen and his brother been identical twins instead of fraternal ones, Solas had no doubt that they would have done as he and Fen’Harel had.

Or at least they would have tried. Unlike himself and Fen’Harel, Solas doubted Dirthamen would have ultimately been able to keep up such a ruse with Falon’Din. At best, all the duo would have done was get themselves into an unnecessary amount of trouble. More than they already had. How Dirthamen could never see the chaos he enabled, blinded by his desire to stay at Falon’Din’s side, Solas would never understand.

When Solas stepped out the other side of the mirror only to find a sleeping Fen’Harel sprawled so far sideways in the armchair that one of his legs was dangling over the backrest, the frown on his face deepened. He had hoped his brother was the one behind the intrusion, intentionally triggering the wards through manual means as he had in the past when he “got bored.” Sighing heavily, Solas walked over and carefully recovered the ancient tome Fen’Harel had dropped onto the floor.

“...’M not done with that,” Fen’Harel mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

Solas regarded his brother coolly. “Then I recommend you keep both feet within the waking world while reading, and refrain from _dropping_ what precious little remains of Arlathan’s library,” Solas said, gingerly straightening out the bent pages.

Fen’Harel huffed. “ _My, my_ , somebody is in a mood.”

“We had someone break into our room.”

Fen’Harel grunted, stretching out enough for his head to fall over the edge of the armrest so he could watch Solas upside down. “What of it?” he asked. “It is hardly the first time.”

“I believe it may have been one of the templars, likely acting on their own,” Solas said, scowling when a particular crease in a section on the thermoregulatory effects of emulsive percussion refused to flatten. “No effort was made to dispel or bypass the magic. Instead, everything in the room was partially nullified—including the magic we wove to incapacitate intruders.”

“A powerful smite could dampen the energy fields enough to allow the individual to escape,” Fen’Harel replied. “... You _do_ realize that if you _close_ the book, the pages will flatten _themselves_ out?”

Solas pressed his lips together, swallowing the retort that jumped to his lips. Letting his half-conscious brother goad him into anger solved nothing. Once he was certain that the book had suffered no permanent damage, he closed it and focused his attention fully on Fen’Harel. “You should show more care for items that are not so easily replaced.”

“Not like I dropped your precious literary love child on purpose. If you like, I can tuck him back safely into his spot on the shelf, where he will be safe from further abuse by naughty Uncle Fen’Harel.”

“I—” Solas stopped, staring at his twin, then gave up with an exasperated sigh. “You are impossible.” There were so many things wrong with his brother’s statement, Solas did not know where to begin. For one, _Fen’Harel_ , and not Solas, had been the one most involved in assisting the spirit of Knowledge working alongside the author. If it was anyone’s “love child”—a term Solas wished Fen’Harel would stop applying to inanimate objects—it was Fen’Harel’s.

“And you were fussing over a magical tome that survived the fall of Arlathan. If it can fall from the heavens and remain intact, it can survive the harrowing plummet it took from the dizzying height of an armchair.”

Solas gave his twin a look. “So you _do_ understand the difference between a chair and a throne. _Fascinating._ ”

Fen’Harel frowned, removing his leg from the backrest and twisting so he could look back at Solas with both of them facing right side up. “We gave that up, you know that,” he said reproachfully.

Solas knew. He also knew that Fen’Harel was the only one who had ever liked having a throne in the first place. His brother was also the only one who missed it. And Solas knew it was a simple truth of which Fen’Harel was not fond of being reminded. “ _Ah_ , my mistake.” They eyed each other for a moment, and Solas knew his point had been made. While Solas would never admit it to Fen’Harel, he had been surprised when his brother returned from one of June’s parties drunkenly ranting about how they should free slaves. And not just some slaves, but all slaves. At the time, Solas had privately begun worrying that Fen’Harel had grown too attached to the attention and worship like the rest of the Evanuris. He had never been so happy to be wrong.

“Do I detect sarcasm?” Fen’Harel clicked his tongue disapprovingly, “Whyever would a gentle soul like you resort to such _snark_?”

Solas stared at Fen’Harel blankly, responding dryly, “I cannot possibly fathom why.”

His brother scoffed, his lip curling into a smile as he abandoned all pretense of doing anything other than return to sleep—deliberately stretching out sideways in a manner distinctly reminiscent of him on a throne. Which was where he had ended up sleeping half the time, either in their temple or, when Falon’Din or Elgar’nan had been speaking for more than three weeks, at a meeting.

“Have you considered changing your name to the Dread Cat? I have yet to witness a wolf abuse furniture so thoroughly.” It was like dealing with a child. Normal people—and wolves—found something comfortable to sleep on.

Fen’Harel rolled his eyes, “Oh yes, _very original_ Solas. I certainly have not heard that one from you _several thousand_ times.”

“You have yet to learn the purpose of a bed after countless centuries. Such stubbornness is hardly deserving of creativity,” Solas said. “Should you ever manage to sit in a chair, and not sleep in it, I will be happy to reevaluate the novelty of my remarks.”

“And _you_ are projecting,” Fen’Harel said with a self-satisfied smirk. “I know _exactly_ what a bed is for.”

Solas’s eyes narrowed, fearing, not for the first time, that his twin had succumbed to temptation and used him to desecrate something beautiful. He knew that look, and the lazy contentment of a recently fed predator. It was bad enough that Solas was directly responsible for all the pain and suffering in this broken world. That such a rare and vibrant soul like the Inquisitor’s had been condemned to this short and fleeting existence, because of _him_ , was already more than he could bear. Knowing he would be responsible, yet again, for the destruction of something as irreplaceable as her—even if it was necessary—ate at him. Every moment as precious as it was terrible.

Shattering a life into silence. Bright and brilliant. The idea of cutting his vhenan’s already limited time even shorter tore at the very fabric of Solas’s being. It was unforgivable. She already bore the burden of his mistakes, forced to use his mark to correct the consequences of his and Fen’Harel’s folly. They had taken advantage of her giving nature, and to further betray her trust, and the openness of her heart, was not an option. Solas would not allow her to be made a mockery of—cheapened for the sake of Fen’Harel’s entertainment. He should never have been so weak to allow himself the comfort of her company and affection in the first place—not when he was responsible for so much of his vhenan’s pain.

For her to love him at all was a gift of which Solas knew he was thoroughly and eternally undeserving.

His knuckles whitened as his grip on the book tightened, nails digging into its ancient leather covering. Fen’Harel had given his word, and while that did not necessarily mean much, it did mean _something._ His brother was not a complete fool.

“Fen’Harel,” Solas said, and the determined calm of his voice waivered, “I swear by the Fade—if you have used her or—or—”

.

###### Fen’Harel

Solas was having trouble with his words. It wasn’t a good sign. It was a “you’re going to get hit in the face with a book, and then the chair is going to explode” sign. Which was extremely concerning for a number of reasons, chief among them being that Solas, as a rule, loved books far too much to mar them with Fen’Harel’s glorious visage.

“She is _your_ vhenan, Solas, not mine,” he said very carefully and slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Just because you want to sleep with the shadow, that does not mean I do.” He should have never taken a nap. What a stupid idea.

“They are people. She is a _person_ , Fen’Harel,” Solas said, his tone low, “Did you sleep with her?”

“No,” he snapped irritably, “I haven’t slept with her. I haven’t used her. Although I appreciate your faith in me. It is so _very_ reassuring to know you think so little of me.” Fen’Harel had known things were getting bad, but he hadn’t realized they’d gotten _this_ bad. Whatever Solas had been doing with his hand clearly wasn’t enough. Solas needed to get laid. This was getting ridiculous. _Dangerous._

“You have broken your word in the past, and we both know you see promises as suggestions best discarded when they grow too inconvenient.”

“That is hardly fair, considering how quickly you seem to have _forgotten_ that we cannot afford distractions,” he said, sitting up. “Your attention should be focused on our duty to the People, not taking out your pent-up frustrations on me because you need a moment with your precious vhenan’s panties!”

Solas’s jaw clenched, cheeks and ears flushing red, and he clutched the tome closer to his chest. It was a nervous gesture that Fen’Harel knew Solas didn’t do intentionally, and under normal circumstances he would have pointed it out. Right now, however, he couldn’t bring himself to. There was a big difference between an upset Solas, and Solas being _upset_. Fen’Harel did not like it when Solas was _upset_. And he had tried to help, but when Solas fell for someone, he fell _hard_. Arlathan to the ground hard. Pulling him back was not easy or, more often than not, wanted. But Solas had never called someone his vhenan before, and that terrified Fen’Harel. If he’d had any idea it was like _that_ … Even the _slightest_ notion, he would have done _something_. Definitely. He _definitely_ would have done something.

“Should I step out?” Fen’Harel continued, making to leave the chair before Solas could get a word in. “Give you some alone time?” All this emotional stuff was too much.

“Stop it,” Solas said, teeth clenched.

Keeping the truth from Solas was exhausting, as was the copious amount of sex. Mortals never took their time with anything, wanting to fuck as much as they wanted to eat—which was constantly. Everything was always go, go, go. He fell back into the chair and shrugged. “Well, you clearly need a hand. Forgive me for trying to be practical.” It wasn’t even his fault that he’d slept with her in the first place! Solas had practically guaranteed it would happen the moment he’d left their vhenan hot and bothered. _At the very least,_ he could have done the courteous thing and given her a few of his fingers as an apology for jealously hoarding his cock behind a masochistic chastity belt of _principles_.

“I do not—” Solas blustered. “The sentiment is appreciated, but unnecessary.”

“As you say, but if I check eye level—”

“Fen’Harel!”

“What!? Right now your behavior is more me than I am!” he said, gesturing into the air with a hand. “You are not the Inquisitor’s personal guardian, _Solas!_ Refuse to indulge in the scandal of our vhenan’s underwear while I am present if you must, but stop lying to yourself!”

For one horrible moment, Fen’Harel was afraid Solas was going to have some kind of breakdown. Or cry. Over a woman. Instead his brow furrowed, and he made a startled, strangled noise.

“This is not about me,” Solas said. “You know—”

“Then it can be about me, because you are driving me insane,” Fen’Harel said, getting to his feet. “Were she not the Inquisitor, I would have—you are a mess, and I find it inconvenient!” Fen’Harel should have known better than to leave Solas to his own devices. His brother had spent half his life buried under a pile of books in a library and the other half jerking off in the Fade with spirits of Wisdom and Knowledge.

“ _You find it incon—_ ”

“You have made it abundantly clear that you are incapable of dealing with this by yourself. I should have taken matters in hand ages ago.”

Solas blanched, his eyes widening in shock and alarm. “I—. What? No! Y-You cannot be serious!”

“Of course I’m—”

“Absolutely not!”

“—serious.”

“No!” Solas repeated, taking a step back. He was taking this worse than Fen’Harel expected. “I—. A friendship with Dirthamen does not imply...”

Oh.

Fen’Harel stilled.

_Oh._

Fen’Harel couldn’t help himself, and it took considerable effort not to balk. “Now that you mention it... We already play _as_ each other. Playing _with_ each—.” He stopped at the expression on Solas’s face. There was a difference between teasing and causing irreparable trauma. And, while he cared deeply for his brother, he didn’t care _that_ deeply.

Letting Solas play Solas had been a terrible idea. His bookworm of a brother had been much better off with his personality kept safely locked away like all his precious rare tomes and Andruil’s stupid spear. Fen’Harel cut the bullshit and offered an apologetic grimace. “A poor choice of wording, in retrospect. I was speaking of ending our—”

The air pulsed with the familiar magic of the eluvian as it flared to life, and Fen’Harel frowned.

“Solas, why is someone using our eluvian?”

.

###### Lavellan

The stone slid shut behind her, and Lavellan found herself staring into darkness.

Swallowing the impulse to turn around and head right back out, she walked up to the ancient mirror. Like with the stone, Lavellan pressed her left palm up against the mirror’s surface and focused on channeling some of the anchor’s energy into it. The dulled surface flickered, a ripple of shimmering reflective light, but it dimmed just as quickly. Lavellan took a deep breath, then tried again. The eluvian continued to flicker, but each time the energy died the moment she pulled back.

Pushing too much of the mark’s power into the mirror risked a rift, and if she managed to damage a priceless artifact while simultaneously trapping her boyfriend she would never forgive herself. Plus, Keeper Deshanna would throttle her for it. Still, there had to be a way.

Then she remembered Morrigan mentioning that an eluvian had to be attuned to a certain place, and activating one often required a passphrase. Since Solas had discovered this mirror, it meant he’d either guessed the correct words or learned to reset it. Lavellan knew he was intelligent, but it still never ceased to impress her how much he knew of the ancient elves.

Her hand tingled uncomfortably under the strain of repeatedly activating the suppressed magic, but she ignored it. At the very least, she had to try.

“All right, I may not be a keeper, you giant mirror, but by the Creators I’m still Dalish.” She placed her hand on the mirror again, and the magic flared. “Mythal enaste?”

Nothing happened.

“Andaran atish’an.”

Nope.

“Dareth shiral.”

She started going through a list of the Creators’ blessings, common phrases—nothing worked.

Frustrated, with her hand aching, she smacked the mirror and exclaimed, “Fen’Harel’edhis enaste!”

The mirror flickered and burst to life, the dull surface now shimmering liquid silver.

Lavellan stared at the mirror, open-mouthed. It had worked. _Why_ _would it work!?_ Or, better yet, why would _Solas_ ever guess or set it to _that_? Yes, he’d been behaving unusually lately, and there had been that whole growling thing, but _Fen’Harel’edhis enaste?_ Lavellan wasn’t sure what to think, or how concerned she should be. Everything about that phrase was so entirely un-Solas.

It wasn’t clear how long the mirror would remain active, or what lay on the other side, but if she didn’t act now, she might not get another chance. Steeling herself with a deep breath, she put on her serious game face and stepped through the portal. A chill ran over her body as the magic washed over her, then receded as both feet landed on solid ground.

She was ready for anything.

Almost anything.

Not this.

Her brow furrowed as she looked between the two Solases.

The one standing on the left had a tome clutched up against his chest like a lifeline, and he looked terrified by the sight of her. His face was paling quickly enough that she was worried he might faint. She knew that look—it was the look he’d given her when she’d jumped him in the hallway. That was her Solas. At least, she thought it was. It had to be.

Then there was the second Solas. He was standing beside an armchair as nice, if not nicer, than the ones she’d seen at the winter palace. He was looking at her through narrowed eyes in a way that filled her with foreboding, and Lavellan was under the increasingly uncomfortable impression that he was deciding whether or not she was a complication—a threat that needed to be squashed. Everything about the way he stood spoke of someone accustomed to power and authority. It was dangerous, predatory... and also Solas. In fact, it was very much the Solas she’d seen so much of lately. Particularly—no, especially—when he was shoving her up against a wall and running his nails down her sides.

Neither Solas said anything, and Chair Solas pressed his lips together into a thin line before turning his attention to Book Solas. The tension in Lavellan’s shoulders eased, and she exhaled—not something to be squashed, then.

“Well, aren’t you going to say something, _Solas_?” he said, extending an arm in her direction. “Here the Inquisitor stands, awaiting enlightenment!” Apparently Chair Solas was the one with a penchant for biting sarcasm.

She followed Chair Solas’s attention to Book Solas, who blinked and seemed to snap out of whatever was going through his head. Book Solas’s eyes flicked briefly to Chair Solas, before looking back to her and clearing his throat. “I suspect you have questions.” he said gently.

Lavellan nodded, trying to think of where to begin. “Questions” was a bit of an understatement. “So... How long have there been two of you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Vhenan_ \- My heart. (pet name/term of endearment)
> 
> _Mythal enaste_ \- Mythal's blessing
> 
> _Dareth shiral._ \- lit. "Safe journey." A common farewell.
> 
> _Andaran atish'an_ \- "Enter this place in peace," (formal). Effectively a greeting of welcome.
> 
> _Fen'Harel'edhis enaste_ \- Effectively "The Dread Wolf's dick's blessing/favor." or "The blessing/favor of Fen'Harel's dick." You get the idea.
> 
> \----
> 
> Comments are **always** welcome. I am shameless. 
> 
> Psst, I have a tumblr: [coldturkeyshivers](https://coldturkeyshivers.tumblr.com/)


	3. Naughty Uncle Solas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas explains that his twin is Fen'Harel, which understandably raises several questions. When Lavellan asks if that means Solas was one of the Evanuris as well, Fen'Harel decides to make her guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy November!
> 
> Mouseover translations are available for those at a PC and at the bottom for mobile users (there aren't many). If I missed any, please let me know!
> 
> Also I'd like to thank everyone for all the comments/kudos/hidden bookmarks ( ͡° ͜ ʖ ͡° )/etc!
> 
> ALSO THANK YOU [QOPHIA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qophia/pseuds/Qophia), since for whatever reason I'm apparently incapable of remembering to credit you as my wonderful and amazing beta in anything that isn't my main fic.

###### Solas

Fen’Harel scoffed at Lavellan’s question, and Solas shot his brother a warning look. Now was not the time.

“There are not two of me,” Solas answered carefully, terrified that the wrong word might cause her to bolt. “We are brothers. Twins.”

“Always?” She took a few tentative steps closer. “What I mean is, uh, have—. When did—. How long have you two been switching places? I mean, you _have_ been switching places, right?”

He nodded, desperate to calm the frantic beating of his heart. “We have…” His mouth was too dry, this room was too warm. Solas knew they deserved whatever ire that resulted from this deception, but that did not make the confession any easier. “Ir abelas, vhenan.”

She went quiet, and Solas braced himself. He should not have called her that. He didn’t deserve to.

“How long?” she asked. It was a simple question, but an important one.

“Always,” he said. She deserved the truth—even if she did not understand the true weight of his answer.

“Why? Was this some kind of game?”

At the last question Solas’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. The accusation felt like a dagger of ice in his chest, coupled with the ache of seeing his vhenan’s confusion give way to hurt and uncertainty. “No, of course not!” he said, taking a step towards her before catching himself. Solas was desperate to close the distance between them—to make her understand. “It was…” He searched frantically for the right words, but he couldn’t find them.

“A necessary precaution,” Fen’Harel interjected. “The Breach was not something we could afford to ignore, but it would have been foolish for us to both approach Haven when our offer of aid may have been met with hostility.”

Solas glanced briefly at his brother, then looked back to his vhenan and gave a small nod. The truth was more complicated than Fen’Harel had implied, but when was it not? Acting as a single person was, at this point, ingrained into who they were. Solas wouldn’t know what to do without a shared identity—it would be like losing a piece of himself.

“Oh, well… that makes sense, I guess.” Lavellan said, her expression clearing.

It was not the reaction he’d been expecting. Instead of anger or hurt, Lavellan almost sounded… happy? No, relieved. Solas stared at her. It didn’t make sense. They’d lied to her—deceived her. How could she take such a revelation in stride? Yet further proof that they did not deserve her.

Lavellan sighed and looked over her shoulder at the now-deactivated eluvian, then between him and Fen’Harel. “Okay, but that doesn’t explain everything else. As in: _There’s a secret passage in your room, and you have an eluvian_! Creators, why do you have an eluvian!?” She paused, looking over her shoulder a second time before locking eyes with him once more. “Two eluvians!”

Creators, indeed. They’d been a gift of June’s, but Solas couldn’t tell her that. “The eluvian belongs to me, therefore I had reason to keep it in my possession,” Solas said simply, forcing his shoulders to ease. “And the passage was to keep the mirror hidden.”

“How?” Lavellan asked, and then Solas saw understanding begin behind her eyes. “You said you learned about Skyhold in the Fade,” she added softly.

“No,” Solas replied carefully, “I told you I had witnessed memories of an abandoned keep within the mountains. That it was a place the Inquisition could make its home.”

“But that implies you already knew about Skyhold. How did you know about Skyhold?” The Inquisitor’s brow furrowed. “Is your real name even Solas? Who are you!?” She paused, then thrust a hand in Fen’Harel’s direction, “Who the heck is he!? And _why_ would you use a password like ‘ _Fen’Harel’edhis enaste_ ’? Do I know anything about either of you at all!?”

And there it was. The question that would change everything. Millenia of court intrigue and the droning monologues of Falon’Din had prepared Solas for a great deal, but not this. He could survive Lavellan hating him—hating them—and the pain of losing her. But he had no idea what would happen if Fen’Harel’s identity was received poorly. His brother could pretend all he wanted that making Solas do the talking was for his benefit, but he’d heard him slip and say “ _our_ vhenan.” The context of the confession left something to be desired, but Fen’Harel would never say those two words with anything but distain unless there was truth in them. Considering Fen’Harel still refused to acknowledge that Lavellan, or anyone else in this world, was a person, Solas wasn’t sure what to think. His twin called her a shadow, an it, a thing; and he’d done so consistently. If Fen’Harel had come to care about her, he had a very strange way of showing it.

Solas didn’t know why he was surprised. Fen’Harel wasn’t exactly the type to show affection in a normal way. Elgar’nan would sooner enjoy a life of quiet contemplation and peace—and they had ensured that would never happen. While his brother could play the game better than anyone when it suited him, after a few thousand years it had gotten harder for Fen’Harel to take off his masks. At some point between the endless banquets and meetings, the lines between Fen’Harel the person and Fen’Harel the icon had blurred.

It was the price Fen’Harel, and all the Evanuris, had paid. Had the title of Fen’Harel not been shared, and had Solas not also shouldered the burden of being Fen’Harel, they, too, would have fallen.

 

###### Fen’Harel

Fen’Harel tapped his index finger impatiently on the backrest while he regarded the pair of would-be lovers’ bumbling theatrics. He wasn’t sure Solas could make the situation more awkward if he tried. If his brother looked any more like a lost puppy librarian, Fen’Harel might have to start confiscating books. That, or hand them to Solas while he slept to see how many he’d try to hug at once.

Then Lavellan pointed at him, and the conversation finally turned towards the giant Dread Wolf in the room. At the mention of the mirror’s password, Fen’Harel stopped tapping. Well, she had certainly received that particular blessing on several occasions. Had Fen’Harel known that refusing to change his eluvian’s passphrase would result in _this_ , he would have been more open to Solas’s protests on the subject. Now the insufferable shadow was gesturing at _him_ , and looking at _him_ , and wanting to know _his_ name.

“… I am Solas, yes. As for my brother, ah...”

Solas would simply have to find the words on his own, because Fen’Harel certainly wasn’t going to volunteer them. He knew exactly how his name would be received. Fen’Harel regarded the shade his brother loved with increasing coldness. He didn’t need words to instill dread, whether into her or himself. If Solas might discover his _precious_ vhenan had, in fact, been taken by the Dread Wolf—repeatedly… Fen’Harel would sooner kill the shade.

Actually, why _hadn’t_ he killed the shade?

“This is my brother, Fen’Harel,” Solas stated evenly.

Not that it mattered.

The Inquisitor’s brow furrowed, then her mouth fell open. The lack of grace in how she gaped was further evidence that Solas’s affection for the thing was madness. Lavellan blinked, and her attention, for whatever reason, shifted back to Solas. “I.. What?” she asked.

Solas cleared his throat before repeating himself, this time enunciating each word more clearly, “Fen’Harel. You wished to know the name of my brother.” His brother spoke as if introducing the Dread Wolf to a Dalish was no more noteworthy than a curiously styled vallaslin.

There was a pause, and Lavellan adopted the lopsided smile that Fen’Harel had come to associate with incredulity. She thought Solas was _joking_. The Inquisitor laughed, looking between him and his brother. “Yeah, but you don’t mean, like, _the_ Dread Wolf.”

He most definitely did, and when Solas did not respond immediately the smile began to slip from her face. Solas hesitated, glancing over at Fen’Harel anxiously—a look Fen’Harel met with a singular raise of his eyebrow before returning his attention to Lavellan.

The silence stretched, and Fen’Harel wondered, not for the first time, how exactly his brother had managed to play him so convincingly. He watched her eyes dart back and forth as realization dawned.

“WWHAAAAT!?” Lavellan exclaimed loudly as she continued to look between them. “By the Creato—.” The Inquisitor clapped both hands forcefully over her mouth, cutting the exclamation short.

At least there would be one good thing to come of this fiasco.

It was not the reaction Fen’Harel had expected. Stranger still, the Inquisitor had yet to try and stab him, flee in terror, or beg for her life. It was a pity, really. Fen’Harel enjoyed it when they ran, and the lack of justification would make killing her problematic. No wonder Solas was so fond of her—she required _management_. Ugh.

When she continued to stand there with her hands covering her mouth, Fen’Harel’s brow furrowed. He gave a sideways glance at Solas, who, much to Fen’Harel’s horror, was beginning to look hopeful and pleasantly surprised. This would not do. The last thing Solas needed was encouragement. Fen’Harel would not imitate puppy love. He _refused_. He—no, they—needed an out. Everything about this situation was far too problematic to be left alone. Fen’Harel looked back at Lavellan, who remained frozen in place. Why couldn’t she just make things simple and give him a good reason to kill her!? It would solve so many problems!

Fen’Harel licked his lips and leaned towards Solas, forcing his attention away from the shade. “What’s wrong with it?”

Solas frowned and shot him a sharp look full of disapproval.

Fen’Harel smiled. He made sure it was one of his politely inquisitive smiles. Watching an expression of increasing harassment blossom on his brother’s face alone went a long way towards assuring Fen’Harel that Solas was not completely lost. They both had a duty to the People.

Eventually Solas looked between his vhenan and Fen’Harel. “I… am uncertain.”

“Lovely,” Fen’Harel drawled. Solas had not forgotten, and that was all that mattered. Fen’Harel’s brother didn’t need to be pleased about it. The very nature of their situation was unpleasant, but the current state of this world was their fault. It was a mistake that belonged to Solas as much as it did to himself. When he looked back at Lavellan, she tensed, much to his annoyance. “Last I checked,” he began, using gestures in the event that she’d lost her ability to hear as well as speak, “using words is an excellent and well-established means of communication.”

That seemed to snap Lavellan out of whatever sort of shemlen crisis she’d been having. Fen’Harel didn’t bother to look at Solas. He was no doubt quietly fuming while simultaneously creating a mental list of all the books he now needed to show her. Fen’Harel sighed loudly and settled back in his chair, which, contrary to Solas’s limited appreciation for furniture, could easily satisfy _all_ the functions a bed offered. One day he would have to explain to his brother that many of life’s most pleasurable activities did not, in fact, require a balcony.

 

###### Lavellan

Lavellan didn’t know what to do.

She would have thought this was some sort of sick joke, were it not for the fact that it made so much damned sense. It explained everything. Discovering two of them had been a relief, but she had not been prepared to have a conversation with Fen’Harel. _The_ Fen’Harel, apparently.

And Fen’Harel had a brother!! She was standing in a room with Fen’Harel and his brother!

Fen’Harel continued to watch her, expectantly. Lavellan was clearly supposed to say something, but she didn’t know where to start. Was she supposed to bow? Apologize? She spared a glance at Solas, and a fresh wave of embarrassment washed over her. Did this make Solas an Evanuris, too? Exactly _who_ had she been dating this whole time?!

Lavellan forced her hands down to her sides, looking between them before settling on Fen’Harel. She didn’t know why, but for whatever reason Solas seemed to want her speaking to him. “Uh, s-so if you’re Fen’Harel… then is Solas also one of the Evanuris?”

“Ah, that,” Fen’Harel said, steepling his fingers. “Yes and no. I mean, _technically_ , yes—but also no.”

She had absolutely no idea what to make of that. “Did—did we get one of the names wrong?” Then it hit her. “Wait! Was he one of the Forgotten Ones?”

That was clearly a bad guess. To say Solas looked offended was an understatement, and she gave him an apologetic grimace. Fen’Harel, on the other hand, seemed to find her guess amusing. One corner of his mouth—the side Solas couldn’t see—had curled into a smirk.

“No,” Fen’Harel said, “guess again.”

Somehow this was a trap, but she couldn’t tell where the trap in it was. If there was one thing Lavellan knew for certain, it was that they had both, at one time or another, either remarked or implied that the Dalish understanding of the Creators was deeply flawed. She’d never seen or heard anything mentioning Fen’Harel’s brother. There was Solasan, but that temple had been so strange she’d never considered that it could be connected to _Solas_.

“Is it—er, I mean,” she glanced at Solas, “Is it a name I know?”

“Oh yes,” Fen’Harel said, his smirk widening into a grin. “It’s one of your precious Creators.”

Lavellan hesitated, but only briefly. “Sylaise?”

Fen’Harel burst into laughter, placing a hand over his face before looking over at Solas. “Sylaise, Solas! She thinks you’re Sylaise!”

“Apparently,” Solas said, unenthusiastically.

Lavellan flushed red with a fresh wave of embarrassment, and she might have prayed to the Creators if she weren’t already standing in front of one—two—of them.

“Hurry, to the hearth!” Fen’Harel managed between gasps. “I fear—I fear the fire’s gone out!”

Her throat tightened. Even if Fen’Harel wasn’t the same person as Solas, they still looked the same. And to see the face of the man she loved laughing at her hurt.

“If you are finished, Fen?”

Fen’Harel waved a hand dismissively, still chuckling.

“I was Fen’Harel,” Solas continued softly, returning his attention to her. “ _We_ were Fen’Harel.”

Solas was beginning to look nervous again, and with good reason. If this had happened a few months ago, Lavellan likely would have had them arrested for crimes against the People. It was only after visiting Mythal’s temple that she began to doubt Dalish history. Now, all of a sudden, her apostate hobo boyfriend was two people that just so happened to be Fen’Harel. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but 10 minutes ago she’d discovered a secret passage in her vhenan’s room that held an eluvian.

“Wait a minute, let me get this straight,” Lavellan said, putting her hands on her hips. “Not only have you spent the past year both pretending to be Solas, but now you’re telling me that you were also _both_ Fen’Harel? _The_ Fen’Harel?”

“Yes,” Solas confirmed.

Lavellan looked at him and sighed. She wanted to feel justified in being angry at him. At both of them! Only she couldn’t, because when she looked at Solas, all she saw was _her_ Solas. She didn’t see the Great Deceiver of her people or a god: she saw her adorable, quiet dork of a boyfriend nervously clutching a tome to his chest while he looked at her with so much adoration that it hurt. It was, quite literally, impossible to look at _that_ and see the bringer of nightmares.

“I—I am sorry. We wanted—I wanted to tell you the truth,” Solas continued, as if the confession had suddenly opened a floodgate. “You deserved that much, and more, and to deny it to you was selfish. I should not have allowed my fear of losing you to keep you from the truth. When we first met, how could I have known that—. I never thought it possible. You changed everything,” he finished softly.

Fen’Harel made a disgusted noise, but she ignored it. Solas’s gaze had dropped down to his tome, where his slender fingers were picking at a slight unevenness in the leather. Regardless of what she deserved, or the ire they most certainly deserved, Lavellan couldn’t bear watching him torture himself any longer. She took a few steps towards Solas, hesitating only when she noticed Fen’Harel. He wasn’t watching them, but _her_. And the intensity of his gaze made her hair stand on end. He did not look pleased.

Unsure of what to do, Lavellan swallowed and looked back at Solas with determination before closing the remaining distance between them.  “Solas, it’s okay,” she said softly. “I understand.” She could be upset later.

“Of course, Inquisitor. I would not expect—" Solas began, then stopped when her words registered. His eyes shot up from the book and Lavellan met them with a small smile. The look of uncomprehending surprise was enough that she had to suppress a laugh. This was her Solas. Her vhenan.

Lavellan moved closer, about to go onto her toes to try and steal a kiss, when Fen’Harel cleared his throat. She frowned, but only a little. Lavellan was almost certain that it had been Fen’Harel, and not Solas, who she’d been sleeping with. He was also the _actual_ Fen’Harel. While Lavellan didn’t think he had any malicious intent, she very much believed him capable of it. He was also an ass.

Fen’Harel’s hand was outstretched expectantly as he looked at Solas, who blinked before looking down at the book he was still holding. Face and ears going a light pink, Solas quickly handed the tome to his brother.

“Ah, my apologies,” Solas said. Lavellan wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, and her eyes narrowed. If his brother turned out to be a bully, they were going to have a problem.

Fen’Harel inspected the tome, clicking his tongue. “As if I would leave my precious child in the hands of _naughty_ Uncle Solas.” Lavellan stared at him.

Solas made a sound of exasperation, and she got the impression that he had half a mind to grab the tome and beat Fen’Harel over the head with it. The sheer fraternal nature of their interaction, one sibling teasing the other in front of their significant other, did more to ease Lavellan’s worries than anything else could have.

When Fen’Harel finally completed his inspection of the text, he looked back up at Solas and raised his eyebrows. “Well, don’t let me keep you,” Fen’Harel said, making a shooing gesture. “By all means, please proceed to staring into the _endless depths_ of each other’s eyes.”

Lavellan snorted, only to regret it immediately as Fen’Harel’s piercing eyes shifted from Solas to her.

They still weren’t friendly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ir abelas, vhenan._ \- My sorrow/apologies/I'm sorry, my heart.
> 
>  _Vhenan_ \- My heart. (pet name/term of endearment)
> 
>  _Fen'Harel'edhis enaste_ \- Effectively "The Dread Wolf's dick's blessing/favor." or "The blessing/favor of Fen'Harel's dick." You get the idea.
> 
> \----
> 
> This work will start earning its explicit tag next chapter!
> 
> Comments are always welcome. I am shameless.
> 
> Psst, I have a tumblr: [coldturkeyshivers](http://coldturkeyshivers.tumblr.com)


	4. Royal Elfroot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Lavellan bang. That pretty much covers it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **For folks who got a double notification, my apologies!**  
>  AO3 pretty much stroked out for the chapter update, and the fic wasn't displaying right in searches, so this is my trying to fix it (fingers crossed).
> 
> Happy December! Woo! BAM. Merry Christmas. Unwrap some porn.
> 
> So this chapter contains sex. It's also where the story breaks a little from the 3 POV rotation. This chapter is Solas's POV only.
> 
> Hopefully you guys enjoy! I'm still pretty new to trying to write filth that isn't intended to be comedy, so I welcome any thoughts/pointers/feedback/etc! 
> 
> Translations are available in line for those at a computer, and at the bottom for those on a mobile phone. I didn't bother including translations for vhenan and some common swears. Hopefully that's okay!
> 
> Also a super duper thanks to everyone for all the kudos/subscribes/bookmarks/comments. 
> 
> It's been really exciting to see that, so far, you guys all seem to love this ridiculous prompt as much as I do! <3

### Solas

Solas watched the brief exchange between his brother and their vhenan with growing trepidation. He ought to have known that Fen’Harel would not accept a positive reaction—even he had been suspicious when Lavellan had not pushed him away in anger and hate. And, like a fool, since Fen’Harel had not gotten the reaction expected, his brother was now trying to evoke it instead.

“I’ll be in the pool,” Fen’Harel stated, more to Solas than Lavellan, and Solas did not try to stop him. Until he had the opportunity to better explain the situation, anything that prevented a further escalation was for the best.

“I’tel’valass, sathan,” Solas said, switching to the language of the People. It was a small gesture, but a gesture nonetheless. He had not forgotten.

Fen’Harel scoffed and headed down the hall leading into the rest of their temple, pausing only to raise his fist and call back, “Ir’vera ash’julathe i’ar’an juena’las tuest anor!” 

Solas had known to expect _something_ from Fen’Harel, but he had hoped his brother might show at least a modicum of decency, given his apparent feelings for her. He took a steading breath, praying the words had spilled too quickly from Fen’Harel’s lips for Lavellan to understand.

“Banal’ras veroves!” 

_Of all the—!_

“Solas, did Fen’Harel just… uh… What?” Lavellan let the question hang in the air as she looked up at him uncertainly. “I—I don’t think I heard that right.”

He glared after Fen’Harel’s retreating figure, all too aware that his ears were burning. “Ir’abelas, emma lath.” What he may or may not want to do was beside the point! That she was even still standing beside him—beside _them_ —was nothing short of a miracle. He would not treat such a precious gift so flippantly. “My brother often speaks to provoke. Even though we were both Fen’Harel, it is his name the elves curse. The power wielded by the Evanuris came at a price, and he carried the brunt of ours,” Solas added, trying to steer the conversation onto something less obscene.

Lavellan was silent for a time. “You’re worried about him,” she said at last.

He looked at her distractedly. The remark had not been intended to convey his concern for his brother, and Solas grimaced. He could not deny it. “It is not a matter for you to concern yourself with. I will speak with him on it later.”

“Is he dangerous?” she asked.

“No more than I.” He felt a new stab of guilt when his vhenan’s shoulders relaxed at his answer. In time, she would no doubt look back on this moment and curse him. It was yet another answer, one of many, that the people of this world would not understand the meaning of until it was too late.

“Then I guess I should count myself lucky.”

Lucky was not the word he would use. It would be kinder to let her go. At least then she would have a chance at some temporary happiness with another. With someone who could be there to hold her and comfort her at the end when he could not.

Instead, he gave her a small smile. “Much of our reputation is undeserved. Please try to understand that the Dalish stories of the Creators are closer to cautionary tales than historical truth. The Evanuris were far from innocent, drunk on their own power, and no better than the Tevinter Imperium of today.” Solas put a hand on her shoulder, intending to guide her back towards the eluvian, only to realize his mistake with horror when she startled under his touch. Panic bubbled up inside him, and he quickly withdrew his hand. _Idiot!_ “ Ir—ir abelas! Please forgive me, I—I had no right. The gesture was ill-conceived on my part."

His vhenan blinked back up at him, and he took a small step back to give her distance. He should have known better than to mistake her lack of outright rejection as comfort or easy acceptance. “No, uh, it’s—it’s fine!” Lavellan said. “It’s just a lot to take in. That’s all.” She glanced quickly around the room, nibbling her lower lip before looking back at him and offering him her hand instead with an apologetic smile. The sincerity of the gesture made his heart ache. They did not deserve her.

He hesitated only for a moment before taking it, their fingers interlocking.

When she used the hand to tug him closer, the gesture came as such a surprise that he stumbled. Her free hand slid around his waist, and she pressed herself up against him in a one-armed hug. It was the closest they had been in weeks, and he _wanted_.

He wanted to taste her skin on his lips while she shuddered under him—to hear the soft whimper of need as he pressed up against her with nothing but the heat of their bodies between them. He wanted her gasping in exultation while her nails clawed for purchase on the back of his neck.

“Solas?” Lavellan said after a moment.

Solas blinked. “Yes, my heart?”

“I know Fen’Harel _said_ we could stand here staring into each other’s eyes,” her words held the strain of a suppressed laugh, “but are you just going to stand there fucking me with your eyes, or are you actually going to fuck me?”

At this rate, his ears and cheeks were going to be a permanent shade of red, but he was beyond caring. He bent down to her lips so quickly that she let out a surprised squeak when their mouths met. Untangling his fingers from her hand, he cupped her face as kissed her, their tongues colliding as they danced to the frantic rhythm of his heart. She pressed up against him, her fingers clutching his waistband, and something inside him snapped. She was his heart, and he would gladly give her anything that was within his power to give. Including himself. For the time that they had left, he would be by her side, unwavering. It was foolish, he knew, but Solas no longer cared. If she could accept him and Fen’Harel for what they had done, if she could still love him despite their deception, then perhaps she could understand—no, _would_ understand—why they had to do what came next.

Solas ran his fingers through her thick, curled hair and down her neck, committing the soft intake of breath to memory. Clarity only came when his vhenan tried to move them closer to the bed. He did not want this memory entering the Fade here in their temple, where it could so easily later haunt his dreams. “Not here.” Jaw clenching, he tightened his grip on her hand and walked purposefully towards the eluvian. “Come.”

“Where are we going?” Lavellan asked, tripping after him.

“To your chambers.” Solas placed his hand against the mirror, and it burst to life under his touch. “If we are going to be intimate, I would rather it be somewhere _without_ Fen’Harel.” Once they were back in Skyhold, Solas wasted little time disrupting the mirrors’ frequencies enough to temporarily disable their use. It wasn’t that Solas expected his brother to interfere—quite the opposite—but all the same he preferred to ensure that Fen’Harel stayed put.

When they reached the hidden passage leading back into Skyhold proper, Solas placed his hand against the closed passage’s door. But before he could press his magic into the stone a yelp of pain from the other side made him pause. He frowned slightly, glancing towards Lavellan. It would appear his heart had not sought to investigate the twins’ chambers without informing another of her plans. It was hardly the first time she had exhibited wisdom, however, given the current state of his erection, Solas couldn’t help but find the consequences of her forethought infuriating. The confines of his pants were growing more uncomfortable by the second.

“Fasta vass,” Dorian hissed loudly, his voice muffled through the wall, “the apostate hobo’s room is booby trapped!”

“Fenedhis,” Lavellan said quietly, “he’s looking for me.”

Of course she had gone to _Dorian_.

Solas closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. If the spell hadn’t already been damaged from what was, in retrospect, clearly Lavellan and not a templar, the Tevinter mage would have been out cold on the floor.

“You all right, Dorian?” It was the Iron Bull. That was just perfect. Fantastic! The last thing he and his brother needed was the Ben-Hassrath poking his nose around under a thinly-veiled guise of concern for the Inquisitor’s well-being.

“Fine, fine. Just stay out there by the door while I look around. Maker knows what else might be hiding in the Veil here.”

Solas put a hand over his face, hoping the pair would leave quickly once it became apparent neither he nor the Inquisitor appeared to be present.

“Ir abelas, Solas,” Lavellan whispered beside him.

“Tel’abelas, ‘ma lath. You need not apologize.” 

“Skyhold’s a big place, you know. Lots of nooks and crannies for people who don’t _want_ to be found,” the Iron Bull replied to Dorian, his voice deepening just a touch at the end.

Solas didn’t have to see Dorian to know the quirked eyebrow and twirl of his moustache the altus was no doubt giving the Iron Bull at that moment. “Crannies, you say? My dear amatus, whatever are you suggesting?”

“I can think of a few dark corners worth investigating,” the Iron Bull purred back.

“It _would_ be irresponsible not to search Skyhold for the Inquisitor _thoroughly_ ,” Dorian replied. “Although I fear such an undertaking could require hours.”

And on they went—back and forth with endless innuendo as Dorian _meandered_ about the room— _Solas’s room_ —integrating just about every object into his verbal foreplay! Increasingly impatient, Solas had half a mind to throw caution to the wind and open the passage so he could tell the couple to kindly fuck off and exchange euphemisms in their own quarters, when the sudden press of a hand against his groin ripped his thoughts from the interlopers completely.

Solas jerked in surprise, hardly managing to stifle the noise Lavellan’s touch elicited as his attention snapped back to his vhenan. She had moved closer to him in the already confined space of the hidden passage, and the look in her eyes made him swallow. Solas knew that look. It was the intense, almost fevered way she’d looked at him when she had snuck up on him and his resolve had nearly failed. It was the look of once-forbidden intent that had haunted his nights and fueled his fantasies when he spent himself in his hand.

Despite the coolness of the passage, his surroundings were suddenly far too warm. Stifling. He tried to put space between them, but instead his back found stone. He licked his lips, heart pounding in his chest as he tried desperately to clear his mind enough to find the right words. “Vhenan, there is no need,” he began, his voice strangled. But she was already undoing the lacing of his trousers, her eyes boring into his with enough ferocity that the rest of the sentence died on his lips. When his cock sprang free, the air hit it like a much-needed salve. _Yes._ She was looking at him like prey finally cornered after a long hunt, ready to be devoured. _Yes, yes. Please._

But that wasn’t how this was supposed to be! She deserved to be made love to on the finest silks, ravished and worshiped with attentions until—. Delicate, nimble fingers wrapped firmly around his shaft, and he groaned loudly. A little _too_ loudly. It had been far too long since he’d allowed himself the luxury of another’s attentions. His resistance and reservations crumbled as she began to stroke him, intelligent thought fading into to the background as his desire gave way to a frenzied need.

“Uh, Dorian, maybe we’d better go.”

Solas crushed his mouth against hers, running his hands up along her stomach to her breasts. The hitch in her breath when he squeezed was all it took for him to yank her shirt off roughly and reveal the pale expanse of her front. His hands trembled as they roved over her exposed flesh, but he was beyond caring. She was here with him, and she was real. She was real, and she knew, and she’d stayed. Solas pushed aside the tendrils of guilt threatening to coil in his chest; she would understand.

“Ooh, is someone getting impatient?” Dorian purred back, “I haven’t even gotten to the bed yet! Did you know it’s a four-poster? It’s a shameful waste, really. As if the apostate has any reason to need something so _sturdy._ ”

Solas’s slender fingers and the shifting of his vhenan’s hips quickly freed Lavellan of her breeches and smalls. As soon they were both naked, Lavellan’s hands were on his shoulders and her knees were on either side of his hips, her toes brushing against his thighs. He quickly shifted his stance to accommodate the unexpected weight as she pressed her hips down against his length. The weeping head of his cock quickly coated in her juices as it slid between her folds.

“Definitely,” the Iron Bull said. “So get your fabulous ass out here before I’m forced to come in there and carry you out.”

“Well, when you say it like that, I find myself suddenly reluctant to leave,” Dorian said.

Solas’s grip on Lavellan tightened, fingers digging into her thighs and the curve of her ass as he pulled her closer, urging her down onto him in a silent plea. There was no hesitation as she slid down onto him, and she gasped loudly as he pulled her flush against him. Solas bowed his head in the effort of swallowing his own groan.

Lavellan wrapped her arms around his neck, inhaling sharply when his hands left her hips to engulf her in an embrace. The press of her body against his was so warm that Solas never wanted to let go. “Ar lath ma,” he said softly. This time when they kissed it was slower, deeper. She groaned, the sound muffled by his lips, when Solas rolled his hips. An act Lavellan returned in kind by clenching around him suddenly. And Solas felt more than saw her smile when it caused him to shudder violently.

“Ar lath ma,” she whispered back.

There was a sudden yelp on the other side of the stone. “When you said carry me, I didn’t mean for you to toss me over your shoulder like a sack of elfroot!”

The Iron Bull snorted loudly. “But this is how I carry bags of _royal_ elfroot, kadan.”

There was a huff from Dorian and more movement, before the door to Solas’s chambers slammed decidedly, and blessedly, shut. Solas let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding before burying his face in Lavellan’s hair and inhaling deeply. “That man is fortunate you are so fond of him.”

She let out a breathy chuckle, her lips brushing against his ear before she gave his earlobe a light nip. “Not half so much as I am of you.”

Even through the haze of being buried in her, Lavellan’s words gave him pause. However, it was short lived. She was so hot around him, so wet and warm and tight. Her outline sharp. Real. And while they were no longer prevented from exiting by the altus, neither of them made any move to untangle from one another. Instead, Solas began planting kisses up the line of her neck, gentle grazes of lip and teeth that grew more insistent when she began to properly slide up and down against his length. He steadied her as she moved, one hand splayed across her lower back to ensure she could seek out the press and friction she desired. She was wonderful.

It wasn’t until she was closer, her panting gasps beginning to fray into needy whimpers, that Solas dared move much himself. He was not in a position to last long, and it had taken considerable effort for him to last at all. Nails dug into his shoulders, and she shuddered, moaning loudly against his neck when he began to move with her. Their bodies slid in tandem with one another under a sheen of sweat, her walls clenching around him as their pace steadily quickened. When she came he immediately followed, trembling as his cock pulsed and he emptied into her. His hips stuttered and he gave a few final thrusts, seeing the fluttering of her walls to completion before going still.

“I thought you wanted to go to my chambers.” Lavellan said, still breathy, when Solas pressed his magic into the passage and started carrying her towards the bed.

Solas planted a kiss on the base of her jaw. “I have it on good authority that this particular make of bed is renowned for its sturdiness, and to neglect it would be a shameful waste.”

Lavellan snorted, and Solas gave her a very small smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'tel'valass, sathan,_ \- Without the book, please
> 
> _Ir'vera ash'julathe i'ar'an juena'las tuest anor!_ \- Take off her clothes and rebuild the empire!
> 
> _Banal'ras veroves!_ \- Take the shadow from behind!
> 
> _Ir'abelas, emma lath._ \- I'm sorry, my love.
> 
> _Ir abelas!_ \- I'm sorry!


End file.
